


Be Proud

by turntechSwaghead (ultravi0lable)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcoholism, Clubbing, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:36:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultravi0lable/pseuds/turntechSwaghead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meulin has maybe one drink too many, and Meenah is there to save the day (or wreck it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Proud

_Flash._

       The lights were blue and purple and few and far between. They were so, so fast and Meulin staggered below them. Her eyes were full of inebriated tears, and she giggled as she made her way over to the bar, pushing between a human teenager and his troll companion. Meulin had seen them dancing together earlier, and from that moment on she knew that they weren’t gonna work out. Being drunk gave her an excuse to exercise the asshole-ish responsibilities that fell under her jurisdiction as the Mage of Heart.

       Meulin really liked this club. Even though she couldn’t hear, the bass was loud enough it sent tremors right through her skin and along her spine and fingers. That’s all you really needed to dance, anyway. And dance she did. Meulin wasn’t thin like many of the other females there, troll and human alike, but she knew that what she had was appreciated by parties of both genders, especially when she made it out to the dancefloor. The small troll at the counter seemed annoyed by her intrusion, but the human, a tall male with bright blonde hair, was only amused and beckoned his matespurrit back out into the crowd.

       Oh well. She’d tried.

       Meulin had come to the joint prepared for a long night out on the floor, but somewhere along the way she’d gotten a little too… intoxicated with all this human booze. What could she say- old habits die hard. After she had lost her hearing and her matespurrit, Meulin lived in the bottle. Her carefully curled hair was now lank with sweat, and as the night wore on into morning she had lost her resolve to sway to the beat; her rhythm was now limited to the tap-tap-tapping of her glossy black nails on the bar. People came and left in waves, as one song ended and another started. Meulin was proud; she’d only bought herself two drinks tonight out of-

       out of-

      _Shit_. Yeah, she was proud. However, the empty glass on the counter was screaming “scrape yourself up and call Porrim before this gets any worse.” Meulin just might’ve, too, had not a beautiful cosmo, in all its righteous glory, been slid in front of her. The bartender thankfully only worked on saturday nights so Meulin would never forget what day it was that she had decided to get down. He motioned with a slight flick of a towel that the drink had come from a figure at the other end of the bar. A flash of blue, and Meulin grimaced when Meenah’s snarky grin was illuminated under the blacklight, fierce fangs lit up like plastic, and magenta lips gruesome from the yellow glow of the bar.

       Meulin never exactly minded meeting up with her old friends. There were those she messaged frequently, those she saw on a regular basis, and there were others she rarely saw; Damara, who she sometimes ran into leaving Porrim’s hive; Latula, who she only saw when the exuberant girl tagged along with Mituna (such a heartwarming pair); and Aranea, who sometimes dropped by around Perigree’s Eve, all flushed with cold and bearing gifts of warm hot chocolate and crumbly shortbread cookies.

       Then there was Meenah.

       Meulin had never really gotten along with Meenah. Something about the fuschiablood just rubbed her the wrong way, no matter Meenah’s intentions. Meulin had a hard time hearing her out on the infrequent occasions they met, even when Meenah wasted her purrecious boonbucks on a drink for the girl. Of course, it didn’t help that she had exploded all their friends, and called Meulin’s shipping charts lame. The nerve.

       Then again, the cosmo did look pretty enticing. Meulin grimaced and tipped it back, a true testament to just how trashed she was. No one tipped back cosmos, and definitely not Meulin. Meenah smirked and and sauntered over to the stool beside her, plopping down with a heavy thunk. Meulin rolled her eyes and dutifully ingored the entrance, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

       “Oh, Damn!” she exclaimed, hurriedly tracing her chin to search for the sticky black lipstick that should have been there.

       “Clam down, babe. You’re fine,” Meenah laughed as she went to help Meulin with the single, infinitesimally small smudge at the corner of her mouth. Meulin hastily recoiled.

       “Oh man, are you searious? You gotta be squiddin me.” Meenah threw her hands up in exasperation, and something deep within Meulin’s thinkpan admired the way they were perfectly filed, glistening like rubies. Another part took great pleasure in the way Meenah threw down fish puns like they were nobody’s business. However, these parts were small, and Meulin tossed her head and was immediately rid of them.

       “So _searious_ ,” she mimicked, her words slow and gummy, “I’m litterally the most _searious gill_ in town. Why don’t you just get lost!” On the list of people Meulin wanted to talk to right now, Meenah was at the very bottom. The negative bottom. She pulled her phone from where it lied in her bra, but before she could text Porrim, Meenah’s hand covered the screen forcing the phone to the counter. Absently, Meulin stroked her thumb over one of the glossy magenta nails.

       “Wowww,” Meenah crowed, “you are so fuckin trashed.” Meulin shoved her arm away.  

       “Shut up, beach!” The word came out with the wrong inflection, to gentle and drawl from Meulin’s flushed lips, yet Meenah’s eyes lit up all the same.

       “You got a ride, doll?” Meenah used the arm that had been shoved onto the counter as a headrest, all polite inquiries and subtle insinuations. Meulin shuddered.

       “Well, duh,” she waved the phone around in the air in front of Meenah’s face pointedly.

       “Oh reely?” Meenah tapped on hard case of the cell. “I don’t bereef you.”

       “I do!” Meulin cried, and struggled with the password. How she was unsuccessful  at typing hitting the 3 key four consecutive times was simultaneously hilarious and heartbreaking, and she eventually gave up with a wail and threw her head down on the bar.

       “Shoooore.” Meenah stood and tugged on Meulin’s collar. It was a litteral kitty accessory, that Rufioh had found at a convention and bought with her in mind. Meenah enjoyed the way the large, fake gems shone under the strobe lights.

       “Let’s go, cap’n.” With that she was gone, and Meulin wondered for a moment if Meenah would even care if she didn’t follow. She tried her phone again.

       “Why meeeeeeeee?” she called to no one in particular, before righting herself and setting off into the wave of bodies, all sweat-slick and tall around her. When she finally reached Meenah, she was grateful for the familiar hand tugging her out the door and into the expensive shuttle outside it.

       Under the street lights Meenah’s nails were unquestionably fandango fuschia, and thankfully she said nothing when Meulin seemingly forgot to let go of her. The ride was quiet, as fancy cars tend to make things, and the soft hum of the heater made Meulin a little sick. She rested in her seat sideways and stared at Meenah’s hand on the clutch and the soft green glow of the radio until they blurred away into nothingness.

       Meulin woke up in her own bed the next afternoon, eternally grateful for it (in the least black way possible!). Her head was pounding and her lipstick truly smeared, and she spent a very long time with her blankets pulled up over her head and curtains drawn.

       That Perigree’s season, when Aranea showed up with little shortbread cookies and hot chocolate for three, Meulin wasn’t surprised to find Meenah close behind. They curled up on her plush sofa and let Aranea do her thing, lulled by the lilt in her voice and the snow outside. For her part, Meenah sweetly refrained from making any rude comments or dumb faces when Aranea’s stories would turn to rambles. Meulin would know.

       She was watching.

 

**Author's Note:**

> haha wow sorry  
> i think that this was lilia's fault but I don't even remember anymore


End file.
